Behind the Glasses: Eye of the Storm
by xXTeamFinnickXx
Summary: Everyone knows Beetee, but not everyone knows his story. How did he win? What was he feeling? Find out as you follow fifteen-year-old Beetee Elysio through the thirty-fifth annual Hunger Games. Book 1 of "Behind the Glasses".
1. Teaser

**Why hello there! You guys probably weren't expecting this because last time I checked, it's not March first yet. Don't get your hopes up, THE STORY IS STILL BEING RELEASED ON MARCH FIRST! This is purely a teaser. My amazingly amazing beta, zxskunkmuffinxz, suggested I let one of these things out, so that's what I'm doing. Here it is, and remember, MARCH FIRST!**

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><p>My name is Beetee Elysio and I am one of the wealthiest teenagers in District 3.<p>

Life is great. My mother makes plenty of money as an assistant to the mayor. Her income is far more than enough to pay for our large house, delicious food, and basically anything else we may or may not need. I spend my free time tinkering with electronics, making various different random contraptions. It's what my father did and it's what I love to do.

Not many people here like me. Actually, all the kids at my school think I'm a dorky pushover. They like to make fun of me because I'm smarter than them, though I don't understand how that's insulting. It only means my future is looking brighter than their's.

Like I said, life is great. I couldn't ask for a single thing more. Of course, this was before reaping day rolled around.

Never did I, or anyone else for that matter, expect my name to be drawn out of the large glass ball containing thousands of boys' names. We all thought I was safe since my name was only entered four times. I guess we were wrong. There was a slim chance that I would be reaped and that's all it took.

Adjusting is hard. Instead of waking up to the bright District 3 sun to run downstairs and greet my loving mother, I'm waking up to the bright Capitol lights and running down the hall to eat with my district partner, mentor, escort, and stylist. I have to be trained. Trained to cause the death of fellow teenagers. The whole practice is sick and barbaric. It just shows how nefarious and bloodthirsty the Capitol really is.

Just think, in less than a week I'll be trapped in some unknown arena, fighting for my life. I don't fight. I _can't _fight. But I guess that's what I must do. After all, I'm not just a rich kid from District 3 anymore.

My name is Beetee Elysio and I am a tribute of the thirty-fifth annual Hunger Games.


	2. My Little Genius

**PearyPants44's A/N: **Hey guys! I'm really excited to start working on this story. Up to this point, all my fics have been with characters completely of my creation. But not this time. I've decided to focus on one of the most loved but barely talked about characters in the books; Beetee! Most people only know him as the old guy who designs weapons and finishes Wiress' sentences, but what was he like before the rebellion? Before the Hunger Games? Even back before his name was even drawn? That's why I'm here! I hope you enjoy and remember, reviews are always appreciated (and loved). This time, I'll really try to reply to all of you, just to let you know I really take the time to read the reviews and that they mean a lot.

Also, as much as it pains me (because those of you who know me understand that I LOVE to give you guys at least one chapter a day), I'll only be updating every Tuesday and Thursday for the time-being. Don't fret! It's only because as of now, I only have chapters 1 - 4 written. I don't want to update every day then run out of new stuff. As I finish more chapters, update time might be decreased.

Hope you enjoy the story :D

- Connor

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><p>Before I begin, I'd like to thank my betapartner in crime, zxskunkmuffinxz. He's really an awesome person and I'm glad he's helping me work on this!

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><p><strong>zxskunkmuffinxz's AN: **Hey everyone! Most of you won't know me, but I'm zxskunkmuffinxz or Alex. "Borrowing" this account from a close friend of mine who is… unavailable. I'm Connor's beta, and I would like to say that I LOVE this so far. Can't believe he said I could beta too, but I guess that's what you get when you are close to the author, eh? Anyway, hope you enjoy and as always, REVIEW!

- Alex

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><p>Without further ado, here it is! Book 1 of Behind the Glasses. Eye of the Storm!<p>

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><p><strong>My Little Genius…<strong>

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><p>Today is the day twenty-four unlucky teenager will be whisked away from their homes. Today is the day twenty-three will receive their death sentence. Today is the day I lose two fellow District 3 citizens, two that I might even know. Today is the day that every other person in Panem, save the Career districts, is fighting to control their shaking bodies, hoping and praying that the tributes are not them or anyone they know. Everyone except me.<p>

The sun is peeking through the cracks in my blinds as I slowly come to in my abnormally comfortable bed. I almost don't want to lift my head off my fluffy pillow, but the weather outside is just too nice for me to stay tucked into my light covers any longer. I rub my eyes and stretch out my arms when I hear the obnoxious beeping of the alarm clock that rests on the nightstand next to my bed.

"Too slow again," I say with a smirk as my hands fumble around for my glasses, without which I am completely hopeless. I'm always up before my alarm goes off. Maybe I just don't require that much sleep. Whatever the reason, I'm tired of dealing with the high-pitched noise ringing in my ears, so I slam my palm down on the small red button next to the clock. That's when the fun begins.

As I watch intensely, the button sets off my elaborate contraption. High above me, the marble is nudged by the pole attached to the button and goes whizzing down the red, curvy slide. At the bottom of the slide, the marble knocks over the first of many dominoes, sparking a chain reaction. The little white blocks fall on top of each other, winding around until the last one lands on one side of a small lever, setting it off balance and flipping a block of wood that is still small, but larger than the dominoes. The wood topples over on the power button of my alarm clock, finally sparing me of the loud wake-up call.

I can't help but smile as my device comes to an end. Sure, I could just reach over and shut off my clock manually, but where's the fun in that? Besides, I created my machine when I was little. It was my first true invention. I can't imagine not using it. It's tedious having to reset everything before I fall asleep every night, but I think it's worth it in the end. It reminds me of my childhood.

Folding my blankets over so they're off my body, I swing my legs off the side of my bed and gently place them on the ground. The carpet tickles my bare toes, a feeling of comfort that most people in my district probably wish they had instead of their torn up, wooden bedroom floors. You see, I'm pretty well off here in my two-story house by the town square. My mother, my only real family, is the assistant to Mayor Watts. Her income is relatively high, so we're living in conditions fit for the head peacekeepers. Believe me, I'm not complaining in the slightest, but sometimes I wish I could convince my loving mother to give some of our money to the poor. It pains me to step outside and see the emaciated faces of children who haven't eaten in days while I have a full stomach. But there's nothing I can do I suppose.

Before I get the chance to stand, there's a light tapping on my bedroom door. It can only be one person, my mother.

"Beetee," she says in her sweet voice that reminds me how lucky I am to have such a caring mother while some teenagers are abused or ignored. "You'd better get washed up. I've laid your reaping clothes out for you in the bathroom."

"Alright," I say, returning the smile that my mother must be wearing through the wood of my door. "Thanks mom!"

I listen carefully as her feet walk away through the upstairs hallway. Slowly, I stand up and stifle a yawn. I have no trouble keeping my eyes open thanks to the quality of my mattress. That thing cost my mother a fortune, but was thankfully worth it. Even when I have to get up early on days like this, I'm well rested.

Shuffling my feet out my bedroom door and out through the hallway, I arrive at my bathroom and slip inside, noticing my clothes hanging neatly from a hook on the wall. I contemplate taking a bath, but decide I don't have time for that today. The reaping is only a few hours away and my mother probably left me a list of chores to get done.

Instead, I pass by our recently cleaned bathtub and slide open the glass shower door, turning the knob all the way up to let the water warm up. I hurry back to the sink and spread some toothpaste on my toothbrush.

I brush my teeth quickly to save as much hot water as possible. Just as steam is pouring out from the top of the shower, I spit out my foamy toothpaste and rinse my mouth. After whipping off my wire glasses, I quickly undress and grab a towel out of the closet, hanging it on the rack next to the shower as I step in.

The water burns at first, but my body adjusts and before I know it, I'm scrubbing my short, spiky, jet black hair furiously. As I rub my soap filled sponge all over my body, my thoughts automatically shift back to those starving children in the streets. I bet they'd kill for a shower right now. Literally. It's an awful feeling, knowing you want to do something to help them but not being able to. My mother tells me I should be thankful for what I have and not worry about others, but still, why do I get to live in luxury and they don't?

As I said earlier, most of the other citizens of Panem are probably scared out of their wits right now while I'm as calm as can be. The reason is that while others are forced to sign up for as much tesserae as possible, I don't have to take out a single one. Sometimes I wish I could and just give my rations to the starving children I see begging on the streets, but my mother won't let me. She says it's too risky.

I don't even know what she's on about. There are roughly twelve-thousand citizens cooped up in our medium-sized district. I'm fifteen now, so with no tesserae, my name is only in the reaping ball a total of four times. Most people in District 3 live in poverty, so they're forced to take out tesserae. After all the math is done, there are well over one hundred thousand pieces of paper to be picked from. That gives me only a four hundred-thousandth chance of being reaped. I'm sure taking out a few rations to give to the poor won't do me any harm.

It's not long before I'm all cleaned up and out of the shower. I dry myself with my towel and hastily get dressed into my reaping clothes. It's nothing too fancy, just black dress pants and an off-white collared shirt. I slip on my expensive watch, tie my black tie around my neck and do one final inspection in my fogged up mirror. I slip my glasses over my pale green eyes. Despite the rest of my appearance, like my black hair and ashen gray skin, my eyes seem much less dismal. Some little brown and yellow specks are scattered around, making them look more like gems than eyes. My outfit thankfully fits well over my tall and skinny frame.

I smile when I'm sure I look okay and rush out the bathroom door, through the hallway, and down the stairs. As expected, sitting on the granite counter of our well-decorated kitchen is a plate of breakfast and a slip of paper. My mother must have left it for me.

Sitting down on one the high stools that surround one side of the counter, I slide my plate a few inches away and scan the note with my eyes.

_Beetee, the mayor needed me to help him prepare for the reaping. I'll be back to walk you over soon. Please wash the dishes I've left in the sink and take the clothes out of the dryer for me. Thanks. Love, mom._

Sure enough, there is a mountain of dirty dishes left in the sink and I hear the dryer in the other room stop running. The clothes must be done. I groan at first, but after all my mother has done for me, I can at least do some chores for her. I scarf down my buttered toast and delicious omelet she has left me and add that to the mammoth pile of dishes that need washing.

I vigorously attempt to scrub all the grime off the plates and glasses at the sink while also trying desperately to keep any water from getting on my nice shirt. Once I'm done with the dishes, I hurry over to the laundry room and find an empty clothes basket. I carefully take out the still warm clothes and fold them, placing them in the basket. It doesn't take me long and before I know it, I'm finished.

Checking my watch, I see that I still have a while before the reaping, so I decide to go back up to my messy room. I grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and bound up the stairs, closing my door behind me.

My eyes dart around my messy room. My bed is still unmade from this morning, the dominoes from my alarm clock are all knocked over, and my floor is littered with dirty clothes and crumpled up papers. I run to the window and pull open the blinds to let some natural light illuminate my room. I take a seat in my desk chair, the kind with wheels that spin you all the way around, and shuffle over to my desk. My computer screen is unable to be missed, but the keyboard is nowhere to be found under all my papers. I fight my way through the jungle of designs and graph paper until I find my latest project.

You see, whenever I get the chance I like to invent things. Living in the technology district, it's easy to purchase supplies, so I never run out of things to work with. Last week I finished up an improved pencil sharpener that I gave to my mother to use at work for her birthday. It's more of a hobby than anything, but I hope when I'm older I can continue to pursue my passion rather than work in the boring factories that most other citizens make a living from.

I'm still not sure what my current project is, but I continue to fiddle with it. I guess it's use will become clear when I'm finished. I hold up the small metal square and go to work on the wiring. I'm thinking it can be a camera when it's done, but I don't know how to make one of them. Nonetheless, I snip away at the wires and fit together certain ones, earning me a satisfying spark. My face lights up as I continue putting wires together.

In about half an hour, I hear the front door close downstairs. I flip the metal lid on my project closed and set it down on my desk. I rush out my door to greet my mother who must have just came in.

"Hey mom!" I say enthusiastically.

Something is up with her. Before she can change it to a sweet smile, I catch her expression looking a little grim. Her eyes, which are normally happy, make her entire face look kind of broken. I shrug it off, thinking it must just be a stressful day with Mayor Watts.

"Good morning my little genius," she says, kissing my forehead. That's always been her nickname for me. Ever since I was little I've been inventing in some shape or form, so the term "genius" developed from there. I don't like to brag, but I am sort of smart. Then again, most people in this district are at least a little intelligent.

"How was the mayor?" I ask.

My mother winces, but fixes herself again. The mention of the mayor seems to bother her. He must have been giving her a tough time. Mayor Watts is one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet, but his job is a hard one. Sometimes he can get a little stressed and take it out on whoever is closest.

"Fine," my mother manages, but I can tell she's lying. I've always been observant, especially with her. I don't dwell on it. He was most likely just yelling at her about something dumb. "We'd better go," she continues. "We're going to be late for the reaping."

"Mom," I complain. "We have another hour!"

"I just don't want to be late."

"Fine, let's go," I comply, stepping into my dress shoes that are waiting at the door. My mother opens it and we're about to head off when I remember something. "Wait!" I exclaim. I whirl around and sprint back up the stairs and into my room. I throw papers off my desk and all over the floor until I find what I've been looking for; my ring. My mother says it belonged to my father. She gave it to me a few years ago and since then, I haven't left the house without it. It's sort of like my good luck charm.

The ring is simple with a green gem that matches my eyes perfectly, even the yellow and brown specks. It makes me happy just wearing it, so I slip it on my right ring finger and join my mother outside.

We begin the short walk around a corner and to the town square. My mother fidgets with her purse a lot, more than she usually does. I assume it's just her worrying about the reaping. She'll be back to normal later for sure.

"I love you," she says out of nowhere.

"Mom, I'll be fine."

"I know," she says before taking a deep breath and grabbing my hand. "But I love you, don't forget that." Her eyes begin to build up tears, but they disappear in a matter of seconds when she resumes her normally strong self.

She's never been this worked up over a reaping before.


	3. Beginning of the End

**PearyPants44's A/N: Hey! Here's chapter two, as promised. Chapter three will be posted on Thursday! Don't forget to review! I mean, come on guys, four reviews? I know you can do better than that! I got more for the teaser! Anyway, enjoy :D**

**- Connor**

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><p><strong>Beginning of the End…<strong>

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><p>The walk to the square is a quick one, though I wish it was slightly longer. The weather is beautiful and I wish to savor it as much as possible before arriving at the dreary event known as the reaping. I know I'm probably the safest teenager in the entire district, but as the hour rapidly approaches, I begin to feel anxious. Who wouldn't? This whole day is filled with wondering. What if this year's escort just so happens to draw my name? What if I'm the one sent into a fight to the death? What if I'm one of the twenty-three children that are going to be nothing more than a memory in less then a week's time?<p>

I shake my head, mentally scolding myself for thinking like this. There's no way I'll be reaped. As always, it will be some poor boy who had to sign up for extra tesserae just to support his family. It won't be me. It can't be.

"You alright Beetee?" my mother asks, genuinely trying to cheer me up.

"Just a little nervous," I confess, my eyes still glued to the cobblestone road below me. My mother's fingers are still laced between mine. She gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

She looks unsure about what to say next. My mother bites her lip and looks away before finally whispering, "Everything will work out, Beetee. You'll be fine."

We continue to walk in silence. The square is just around another corner. I can hear the bustling of the Capitol camera crews, the mayor practicing his speech, and someone sneezing obnoxiously. My mother and I slowly join the stream of citizens walking in unison towards the square. Many shoot us looks of loathing, envying us for not having to worry about me being reaped. I can't say I blame them. If I were in their situation, I'd be feeling the same way. However, my mother has a totally different point of view than I do. She holds me close and hisses at the glaring children.

District 3 isn't exactly the most appealing place in Panem. Although we are practically forbidden from speaking of it out loud, District 3 was one of the most rebellious districts decades ago when we tried to fight back against the Capitol. Along with 4 and 8, we used to be extremely wealthy, almost equivalent to District 1. However, 3, 4, and 8 were also the first to rebel. That's why we're in such terrible conditions now. District 4 is slowly regaining the Capitol's love by training teenagers to participate in the Games, but 3 and 8 are now the poorest districts in Panem. Besides my family, only a few others here can actually provide for themselves without a struggle.

The smoke from the factories in the distance almost block out the blue sky. Thankfully, they are so far away that only a minimum amount of people are coughing and gagging. I myself am finding it difficult to breathe. The broken down houses are gradually shifting into run-down apartment buildings. This is where most of the district lives. I can't even imagine life in one of those things.

"Beetee," my mother says.

"Huh?"

"We're here."

I look up from my feet and see the massive town square laid out before us. A good amount of people are already in their spots, ready to face the terror that awaits. The large stage is decorated with potted plants, streamers, banners, balloons; basically everything you wouldn't expect at an event like this. The sections for the potential tributes are easily distinguished by velvet ropes. Everyone knows the drill by now. Girls on the left, boys on the right. The oldest teenagers, the ones who are eighteen, are closet to the stage. Behind them is the section for seventeen-year-olds and so on. A few teenagers are already in their place while others are giving their names to the several peacekeepers at the entrance. Attendance is mandatory, so they are here to make sure no one skipped. Towards the back of the square are thousands of folding chairs for people who are either too young or too old to be reaped. That's where my mother is heading.

"You'll be fine Beetee," my mother assures me, holding my tightly by the shoulders. I can see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. She sniffles once and tries to look away.

"Mom," I say. "You don't have to cry. I'm safe, remember? My name is only in there four times. I did the math!"

Apparently my statement about the math is funny to her and she manages a nervous laugh. "You're right. Be strong Beetee."

I nod confidently as I watch my mother walk up to one of the peacekeepers. She doesn't even have to give her name. They know her well enough from always being around the mayor. Now that she's away from me, she walks with great posture as if nothing is wrong. She greets several peacekeepers and citizens of the upper-class, avoiding those from the middle and lower-classes. I really do like my mom, but she's what people call a Capitolist. Trust me, she despises the Hunger Games as much as the next person, but she favors the way they handle things in the Capitol over the way things are done in the districts. If she could, I bet she'd dye her hair some crazy color and bleach her skin like the Capitolites do.

My mother has put on her brave face and it's time for me to do the same. I fix my glasses, straighten my posture, and march over to one of the peacekeepers. Normally I'm just an innocent boy who always does as he's told. But on days like this, I'm no longer Beetee Elysio. I'm an independent, courageous, mentally strong young man. Mom isn't here to protect me today. I have to rely on myself.

"Beetee Elysio," I say clearly to the man dressed in all white. He flips through two pages on his clipboard before finding my name and crossing it off.

"You know where to go," he spits, moving on to the next teenager.

That I do. I walk calmly down the aisle, avoiding making eye contact with anyone. I notice most kids are meeting up with their friends, leaning on them for support. I have no friends. To the students of my school, I'm just a geeky rich boy. Everyone hates me purely because I have food on my table every night and get perfect grades in class.

Not thirty seconds after I've arrived in the section for fifteen-year-old boys do I hear the word I've been hoping to avoid all day.

"Hey Volts!" an older boy jeers.

I clench my fists at my side and close my eyes. _Just ignore them, Beetee. You're better than that. Don't stoop to their level._

"Are you deaf, Volts? I'm trying to talk to you!"

The name "Volts" has been haunting me for years now. Some time ago my father was still living. He was an inventor, only he did more than just fiddling around with junk like I do. He was actually paid to create new gadgets and tools for others. He was great, one of the happiest men in the world. It all changed unexpectedly one day. It happened too fast for anyone to do anything. I had watched it happen in his laboratory. He was just attaching a few wires when there was a large spark and he fell to the ground, his body still twitching with electrical life.

I couldn't hide the fact that he was gone. The others found out and created a new way to torture me. I don't know who started it, but everyone suddenly began calling me Volts. Even some of the teachers.

They know I hate it. That's why they do it. I can't even pick up some groceries from the market without someone shouting, "How's it going, Volts?"

Everyone is beginning to fill in the gaps in the square. The time to begin must be approaching quickly. The people on stage are all present; the mayor, our escort, the victors.

In the dense crowd of teenagers, the same boy is still trying to torment me. "Volts! Can't you hear me, Volts?" Before I know it, the boy, along with a few of his friends, appear in front of me, smirking with delight.

I'm ready to haul out and punch them all in the face, but I restrain myself. I'm better than that. I don't fight. Besides, one look at my scrawny arms tells me they'd have me beat in half a minute. So instead, I grit my teeth and mutter, "Go away."

"Why?" the boy continues. "We bothering you, Volts?"

"_Are _we bothering you," I correct. "Go back to first grade, genius."

"You calling me stupid, Volts?"

"Yes, I think I am."

Out of nowhere, the boy shoves me with both his hands, sending me toppling backwards into another kid. I fall on the cold ground as my glasses wiggle free of my nose, clattering against the cobblestone. The boy above me laughs and kicks me in the side. I close my eyes and brace myself for the worst.

"Attention citizens of District 3," a familiar voice booms over the square. Opening one eye, I look through the crowd and see Mayor Watts at the microphone. He taps it to make sure it's working. The boys looming over me quickly return to their age groups as I shakily get to my feet. The mayor smiles when they're away from me. Since I'm always around him due to my mother's job, Mayor Watts and I have become very close. It's not hard to tell that he started the reaping early just to get those guys off my back.

"Thank you," I mouth. He simply nods and continues with his speech.

"We gather here on this fine day to choose the two lucky tributes that will have the honor of fighting for District 3 in the thirty-fifth annual Hunger Games. One young boy and girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen will be reaped today. Whether or not we have another victor this year rests in their hands."

Mayor Watts is shifting uncomfortably, looking much like my mother did on the way here. What's up with those two? Something really serious must have went down between them this morning. I can practically see the sweat running down the mayor's face as he struggles to finish his speech. It's obvious he's forgotten what he originally had planned and is now making it up on the spot. He closes by reciting the boring Treaty of Treason. Everyone sitting in the back is forced to stand to honor the reading of the dreadful document.

I don't listen at all during the first part of the ceremony. My thoughts slowly shift to how furious the Capitol makes me. Their cameras line the square, the workers dressed in absurd outfits. I despise all of them. They all get pleasure from watching us starve to death. They treat the Hunger Games like some big party that's meant to be celebrated. How would they like it if they were thrown into the arena and told that to survive they had to kill twenty-three other human-beings? Even the sight of them makes me angrier then I am when I'm teased by the other kids.

I tune back in when the Treaty is over and Mayor Watts is introducing our two victors. We had three, but the girl that won a few years ago killed herself back in spring. The mayor gives the name of the first victor, but no one can hear it over the young man's loud mumbling. I heard he went crazy a long time ago. To make matters worse, he took up drinking. The man grabs the microphone from the mayor and starts speaking what sounds like a different language. Mayor Watts struggles to regain control of the show and finally manages to rip free the microphone, quickly moving on to the next victor.

"Raymon Cedric, victor of the eleventh Hunger Games. Raymon has the privilege of being the mentor for this year's Games," the mayor announces. I remember Raymon's Games. We were forced to do a project on them in class. He was seventeen when he won, so if my math is correct, that makes him forty-one now. Luckily for the tributes, he is very sane. The middle-aged man stands and smiles. He's in good shape with short brown hair. His brown eyes show a hint of fear as he waves to the crowd and takes his seat once again.

The mayor ends his spiel and hands the microphone over to our new escort, Inina Chiara. The woman's mouth is curved in a twisted smile that spreads across her pale face. Her silver ball gown, complete with green gems decorating the skirt, matches her sickly green hair. Speaking of sickly, when Inina begins to talk, she lets out the loudest sneeze I've ever heard. The entire front row makes a sound of disgust.

Inina pulls out a handkerchief and wipes her nose, holding her obnoxious smile the whole time. "Please forgive me," she says cheerily. "I have a bit of a cold, but you know what they say; the show must go on! And what better show is there than the Hunger Games?" Not a sound from the crowd. Inina's smile is fading and I think she might be realizing that we're not interested, but I soon figure out that she's just preparing for a second sneeze. This time, the front row has the knowledge to shield their faces.

"Look at you," our escort says between sniffles. "So excited you can't even speak. You know, I - ACHOO! Excuse me, I had whole speech planned out about how this year's Games are going to be something special, but you know what? You people seem so enthusiastic that I think I'll just skip it and draw the names. Cross your fingers!"

And we do. Inina heads for the girls' glass ball first. She's about to reach in when she sneezes again and her hand slams into the ball. The small table it sits on wobbles as the massive sphere falls to the stage, shattering into a million pieces.

Inina laughs loudly, taking all of this as a joke. If only she knew how we feel right now. Because of what she just did, the positioning of the names is different. A girl who originally wasn't going to be picked now might be because of this. Potentially, her cold just killed someone.

While a man mounts the stage with a broom, Inina picks a slip of paper off the ground and grins even wider when she reads it. "What a pretty name!" she exclaims. "Adena Jaye, you are this year's lucky female tribute! Congratulations!"

There's an ear-piercing shriek coming from the boys' section. Adena, with her long auburn hair and hazel eyes, emerges from the eighteen-year-olds' area. She tries to act brave, but I can tell she's scared out of her mind. As she passes the boys' section, someone leaps out and tries to grab her. Adena tries to calm him down, telling him she'll be okay.

She takes her place next to Inina, backing away when the cannon on the escort's face explodes again. Inina, completely oblivious to how we feel, chimes, "Wonderful! Such a beautiful young lady. You'll make quite a competitor, I just know it!"

"Murderer!" the same boy from before screams. This time, two peacekeepers are forced to move in and silence him. When he refuses to shut his mouth, they beat him until he's unconscious and drag him away. Adena looks truly hurt, but when Inina turns to face her again, she acts like everything is okay.

"Murderer?" Inina asks. "Silly boy, the Games haven't even started yet! I bet he just can't wait to get started."

_Idiot._

"Anyway, let's move on to the boys, shall we?"

The green-haired woman prances over to the one glass ball still intact and picks the first name off the top.

Time slows down. For me and for every other boy in the square. One of our names is on that piece of paper. One of us is going to die. The only question is who? Who gets sentenced to death and who gets to live another year?

As she reads the name, Inina sneezes once more. The noise almost blocks out the name of the tribute. Almost. My eyes widen because I heard the name loud and clear. She drew the name of the boy no one expected to be reaped. The one whose mother assured him everything would be okay when she couldn't even convince herself. The name is mine.

"Beetee Elysio!" Inina repeats, smiling widely the entire time.

There's a short yelp, my mother no doubt. I don't want to move. I can't fight! I've never harmed anyone in my entire life. How am I going to kill off twenty-three other, stronger kids, some of which have been trained?

But I must go. If I don't, the peacekeepers will have me dead in a heartbeat. I have a choice. I can run and get myself killed, or I can fight and give myself the chance I need to survive.

I embark on the journey to the stage. Everyone's eyes are on me, some filled with pity, some filled with hate, and some filled with pleasure. For a moment, I think I'll make it to the stairs in peace. That's when some idiotic eighteen-year-old shouts, "Volts!"

I ignore it. I scale the stairs quickly and stand on the opposite side of Inina. The escort starts to close up the ceremony when another boy says, "Volts!"

Following him is a girl, who joins in mocking me by the way my father died.

Before I know it, everyone is chanting my dreaded nickname. The worst part is, it's not just the teenagers. The peacekeepers join in, then some of the parents. The bakers, the teachers, the electricians, even the Capitol officials who don't even know what lies behind the meaning of the name. They all mock me as one. All except my mother, the mayor, Raymon Cedric, and Adena Jaye.

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><p>Now I sit in the justice building, a place I've always known as a pleasant environment. I come here often with my mother for her work. Mayor Watts would let me toy around with some of the electrical stuff he had. In less than a day, this place has changed from that to my jail cell before my execution. Next to the Hunger Games, the justice building is the last place I want to be, for I know this means goodbye to my home.<p>

I fight back my tears, trying to hold them in until after my mother sees me. I don't want our last moments together to be in sorrow. We both need to be strong.

She comes in immediately after the ceremony. The door of the nicely furnished room makes a loud creaking noise as it slowly swings open. My mother's heels click against the hardwood floor as she approaches me. She sits down on the leather couch I reside on and wraps her arm around me.

I expect her to cry. This morning she was getting so worked up. You'd think that after her worst nightmare came true she'd be upset, but I don't see a single tear fall from her brown eyes. She barely says anything until I speak up.

"You're not crying."

Her head gently turns down to meet my gaze and she manages a weak smile. "I know."

I'll never tell her this, but that kind of hurts. Does she not care? If I die, would she even cry then? She notices my facial expression and kisses my forehead. "I love you Beetee, you know that."

"Yeah, I know."

"I'm not crying because you're my son. I know how you work." I lift my head up and stare into her dry eyes. "I'm not crying because you are one of the strongest people I know. You'll do everything you can to get home, I just know it. And you _will _come home Beetee. I'm not crying because I know this is not our last goodbye."

For a few moments, I think my own mother has me confused with someone else. I'm not strong, I'm a skinny kid who refuses to fight. Then I realize she must not mean physically strong, but mentally.

"Use your intelligence to your advantage," she continues. "Show them that you don't have to fight to win, okay?" I nod.

"My token?" I ask tentatively.

She smiles. "You already have it." My eyes find the ring on my right hand almost instantly. The thing I cherish most from District 3. Something to remind me that I have to come home. That I have to get back to this cruel place where I'm mocked by all but few. I make it sound like I'm giving up. I have no reason to return to this place. But I'm not. If it weren't for the constant teasing thrust upon me here, I wouldn't have the strength I need to pull through.

"Thanks mom," I say, hugging her tightly.

We decide we have nothing left to say to each other, so my mother stands and smoothes out her skirt. She walks slowly towards the door without looking back. Her hand rests on the doorknob and she's pulled it halfway open when she turns around. I find that her eyes each have a single drop of sorrow threatening to fall. I thought she wasn't going to cry.

"Beetee," she says. "I don't cry because I know you can win, but also because we all knew this would happen." She's gone before I have time to ask her what she means.

I think that's the end of my visitors. No one likes me here anyway. I allow my emotions to explode as the waterworks begin, pouring down my face and leaving drops on my glasses. I punch a pillow repeatedly until I can see the stuffing coming out. I pick it up and hurl it to the closest lamp, knocking it to the ground. No one comes in to stop me. I have every right to be mad, they know that.

However, someone _does _come in to say goodbye. It's the mayor. I immediately stop crying.

"Doing alright, Beetee?" he asks. I nod. He sighs and walks closer to me. He doesn't sit down, but I stand, looking up into his big eyes. "You have to go now," he says. "But not without saying goodbye to me first." He pulls me into a hug and I don't protest. He continues speaking, but quieter. It's more like a whisper in my ear. "Don't give up hope, son. You have my support. They were wrong to mess with you. Prove it to them. I'll be right here waiting when you get home."

He releases me and I step back. "Who's messing with me?" I ask desperately. "What are you talking about?"

"Win, Beetee," is all he says. "I know you can do it."

I want to ask more, but a peacekeeper comes in and drags me away. I struggle and try to wiggle free, but he won't let me go. I scream and begin to sob some more. The mayor. My mother. Both of them are keeping something from me and I want to know what it is.

But as I'm shoved on the Capitol train, I can't dwell on knowledge I don't have. I have to focus on what I do have and use it to get me home safely. I have to prepare myself, because this isn't the end. It's only the beginning.


	4. Closer to Death

**PearyPants44's A/N: Hey all! As promised, here's Thursday's update! Remember to review! I think I have anon reviews set on, so go ahead and do it that way if you'd like! Oh, and strange thing to say, but go ahead and flame me. Lol. I really want to see EVERYONE'S opinion, so go right ahead! If you don't want me to respond to a review (because I'm trying my hardest to) just say so and I won't. Oh, and sorry, but this is the last chapter I actually have written 0_o. I'm halfway through 4. Been working on it for a while. But I'll get 4 and 5 done this weekend so they can be posted Tuesday and Thursday next week!**

**In other news, 15 days til THG comes out... SDOUHOSDFISJD. Who's going to the midnight premiere? What's that? I am? Hehehe be jealous ;) But seriously, who else is going?**

**Without further ado, chapter 3!**

**- Connor**

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><p><strong>Closer to Death…<strong>

Trying my hardest to forget whatever it is Mayor Watts and my mother are hiding from me, I check out the Capitol train car around me. After living in one of the most expensive houses in the district all my life, you would think a simple train wouldn't dazzle me. But this train isn't filled with rows of dirty seats where you are to sit until you reach your destination. It's more like a large apartment.

The door to the train slides closed behind me as I step off the welcome mat and onto the gray carpet. Looking straight forward, I see that the entire far wall is made of glass, allowing me to see right outside. The rest of the walls are decorated with pale green wallpaper and a few small windows.

I decide immediately that this room is the largest on the train, the dining and living room. It's separated into two parts. To my left is a massive dining table with a glass surface and dark wooden legs. In the center of it rests an exotic plant you could never hope to find in the factory-infested District 3. An extravagant chandelier hangs above the table, shimmering brightly even thought it's not turned on. The rest of the dining area is filled with large potted plants and wine racks. A door behind the table must lead to the kitchen since there's a delicious smell pouring out of it.

The other half of the car is the living room. In the corner is a large TV that sits on a wooden TV stand. There's a glass cabinet in the stand with boxes of tapes inside, probably records of the past thirty-four Games. Around the TV are two black leather couches, big enough to fit several people each. A coffee table stacked with magazines is positioned in front of the couches along with a few end tables, each housing a small lamp. Both halves of the room have a hallway branching off of them, leading to the bedrooms I assume.

Apparently, I'm the first one on the train. There's no sign of Adena Jaye, Raymon Cedric, or even Inina Chiara anywhere. There must be a few workers somewhere. I mean, someone has to be cooking that amazing-smelling food.

However, I choose to believe that I'm alone. This has all happened so fast that I'm left overwhelmed. I think I need to lie down or something. Just this morning I was living a perfectly fine life, waking up in my cozy room to a homemade breakfast. I was a child who had nothing to worry about because my mother did everything for me. Now, only a few hours later, I'm forced to grow up, something I should have done long ago. My mother can't be here for me now. In the Hunger Games, it's _my_ actions that will determine my survival. Just like I had to be at the reaping, I'm now a completely independent young adult.

Accepting that fact is hard. From now on, life won't be as easy as it has been. In a few days, I'll be fighting for my food, not having it given to me. Will I be able to manage? I'm sure most of the other tributes are from the lower-class. They're used to not eating much, to having to fight for survival. They'll have the upper hand. I'm just a weak kid who's always had things handed to him.

Looking around, I'm glad to see there are no camera people on the train. No one is watching. I don't have to pretend to be brave or strong. I can be myself. It's not long before I burst into tears, standing in the same spot as when I entered the train. My glasses, already stained from my crying in the justice building, are getting even more foggy, now to the point where I can barely see.

I glance around nervously, fighting back a few of the tears just for a second. The others should be boarding any second. I don't want them seeing me like this! Out of the two hallways, I pick the one on the living room side of the car and hurry down it. I arrive at two wooden doors facing each other. I run my hand over the knob of the one that has the label "Male". This room is for me.

Turning the doorknob, I push the door open all the way, hoping to throw myself on the bed and continue sobbing. It's too bad I'm not alone. I find myself joining a man in black dress pants and an equally black button-up shirt. He whirls around from whatever he was doing, revealing his solid black tie and a red pin on his chest that reads "Avox".

"I-I'm… sorry," I stutter, wiping my nose on my shirt sleeve. "I thought I was alone."

The man, who looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties, shakes his head quickly, silently telling me that I wasn't interrupting anything. He stands up straight, fixing his shirt and looking at me as if he's waiting further instructions. Being an Avox must be a technical term for one of the employees.

Releasing a long sigh, I fall down onto the nearby bed and bury my head in my hands, not quite crying, but trying to avoid eye contact with the man until he leaves the room. After a few minutes, he's still in the same spot, apparently not leaving until I give him something to do. Looking up, I mutter, "Could you, um, get me some wires or something?"

The man barely even nods before darting out of the room. I hear his footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall, searching for the wires I've requested. I don't know how he's going to manage to find any. Why would they have spare wires lying around the train?

But sure enough, he returns in a flash wielding a spool of wire and clippers. He holds his hands out to me and I take the objects setting them on the mattress beside me. "Thank you," I say. Not long after that the Avox takes the stiff position again, awaiting more orders. Sadly, I have none. What am I supposed to say?

"So," I decide to start. It can't hurt to make conversation, right? "Your job must be pretty cool. I mean, you get to serve tributes on this fancy train all the time. Does it pay well?" I get no verbal response. Instead, the man shakes his head slowly. I get the feeling he doesn't really get paid for his job. "How'd you land a job like this anyway?" I continue. He looks uncomfortable, shuffling his feet without responding.

"Man, and I thought I was antisocial," I mutter. "Don't you talk?" The man's eyes drop and he bites his lip. After shaking his head, he opens his mouth. My own jaw drops when I see the horrifying sight.

"Y-you… You have no… tongue?" I ask, completely disgusted. Looking into the man's mouth, there's not even a hint of his tongue. No stub or anything. Just the gooey bottom of his mouth. I don't get it. Was he born like that?

I begin to feel bad that I've been trying to get him to talk. He obviously can't, so I quickly say, "I'm so sorry. Have you always been like this?"

The Avox shakes his head violently. I question him further and he makes a cutting motion with his fingers. I gasp and ask, "It was cut out?" He nods. "That's… that's awful! Who did this to you? The peacekeepers?" He shakes his head. "President Pyrros?" Another shake, but less sure. "The Capitol?" He nods. "Well… why'd they do it?"

The man pauses for a moment, tapping his foot and scratching his chin. After getting an idea, he sneaks over to the end table next to the bed and swipes the clock off of it. I shrug and say, "You stole a clock? That kind of punishment seems a little harsh." He sighs and puts the clock down. He takes his hands and acts like he's eating food. As another guess, I say, "You stole food?" He nods.

This whole idea seems absolutely insane to me. He steals some food and gets his tongue cut off? That's ridiculous! I bet he didn't even have a proper trial or anything like that. I always knew the Capitol was barbaric like this. They seem so prim and proper with their perfect manners and outfits, but on the inside, they're all monsters. They get sick joy out of watching children kill themselves and cutting people's tongues out!

"Wow, that's terrible," I say, unsure of what else I should do. I'm about to suggest that he sit down, but he probably has work to do. Instead, I say, "Well, it was nice meeting you. I guess you can go now." He starts for the door, but something makes me jump up and grab his arm. It's a stupid question, but I carry through with it and ask, "What's your name?"

The Avox frowns, looking around the room, probably for something he could use to spell out his name. But somewhere back in the main car, I hear a man's voice boom, "Horatio! Why aren't you fulfilling your duties?" The man looks at me and I understand.

"Horatio…" I whisper to myself as he nods. "I hope to see you again, Horatio." That statement was also dumb. From his awkward expression, I don't think he's supposed to be associating with the tributes. Plus, I could be dead in a week. There's no chance of us meeting again. As Horatio hurries out, I slam the door closed behind him, lock it, and fall back on my bed.

I try hard to forget about my encounter with the Avox and fiddle with the spool of wires. I don't really have a purpose for doing it. I guess the action just reminds me of home. I twirl the wires around my hand, tie certain parts into knots, rip them apart and connect them, anything I can do to keep my mind busy until the train suddenly jerks forward and I fall back onto my bed. I guess everyone else is on board and we're leaving for the Capitol. I look out one of my windows and watch as District 3 fades into the distance. In this moment, I'm ridding myself of my nasty peers who mock me. However, I'm also furthering myself from a mother who cares. It pains me to know I'm riding the train that will take my closer to the Capitol. Closer to the Hunger Games. Quite possibly, closer to death.

A part of me wants to scream until my lungs can't take it anymore. I should probably be complaining about how unfair this is, but I know that wouldn't be right. This _is _fair. Unfair is that thousands of families have to live in poverty while I have everything I need. Unfair is the fact that Horatio had his tongue cut out for stealing food. In a strange way, it's fair that I'm the tribute this year instead of some poor boy who's already had a terrible life.

Silently, I lean back on the pillows of my bed and continue to play around with the wires. It's now that I finally check out the contents of my room for the night. The bed I lay on is similar in size to the one I have back home, but this one is much comfier and has gray sheets with matching pillowcases. The floor and walls are bland shades of blue, white, and gray. A desk sits next to my bed with a lamp and rolling chair. A closet is next to the door that I assume leads to the bathroom. Two dressers are pushed against one wall by the door to the rest of the train. Several windows cover two of the four walls, allowing me to see the trees whirring by. The sun is beginning to set, turning the sky a red-orange color.

Without warning, someone begins banging on my door while wiggling the locked doorknob. I jump back, but calm myself when I realize it's only my mentor, Raymon Cedric.

"Beetee!" he says sternly, but also with care. He sounds like my father used to when he needed me to do something immediately. "Dinner's ready! Come on out!"

The mention of food makes my stomach growl, but I refuse to leave my position on my bed. Subconsciously, I've already been planning how to fight through these Games. My body is used to always having enough to eat, and chances are there's not going to be a five-course meal laid out for us in the arena. I need to adjust to eating less. I promptly decide against eating tonight and make no noise to Raymon who is urging me to come out.

However, that's not my only reason for hiding in my room. I hate admitting it, but I'm scared. I suppose anyone would be given my circumstances. I've just been sentenced to death. How could I possibly be in the mood to eat? I also don't want to show my face to the others. I don't want them knowing how afraid I am. Normally, I'm a brave, calm person, so I assume the fear will pass as I get used to my situation. I just have to have some time to myself.

"Beetee Elysio!" Raymon shouts louder, a hint of agitation in his voice. "You have to eat something! Come out here right now!"

"Can't hear you," I say. "I'm asleep."

"Bee-" Raymon cuts himself short with a sigh. "Fine! Don't eat. I'm just trying to give you your best chance. But you _will _come out to watch the reapings. I'm not letting you die that easily." I don't answer as I hear Raymon walk away.

For the next half an hour, I sit on my bed and mess around with my wires, calming myself down and trying to forget everything about home. It will only distract me. But trying to forget my mother only makes me think of her more, so I decide to think on completely different things. What the arena could possibly be, if I want any alliances, regular Games stuff.

The growling in my stomach increases and I finally decide that I'm going to need to put something in my stomach. Gradually, I pull myself off my bed and set the wires on my pillow. Slowly, I walk to the door and unlock it. Mentally, I'm preparing myself. I have to keep myself under control around the others. I'm Beetee Elysio, one of the bravest people in District 3. I can push through anything. That's what I have to portray to them.

Apparently, I've come out at just the right time. Raymon is standing and walking in my direction, but he stops when he sees me. "I was just about to tell you the reapings were starting," he mutters.

Raymon retakes his seat on the couch that also houses Adena Jaye. Her hazel eyes stare straight forward, studying the TV screen and not paying me any attention. Her hands are shaking, so I'm guessing she's still in shock. I can't blame her. It's not every day you get shipped away from your home to fight it out with twenty-three other teenagers.

I grab a roll from a basket on the dining table and sit down on the other couch which is empty. I have to pay close attention to the reapings. I need to start learning about my competition. These kids could cause my life or death and I'm going to prepare myself for that.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only one on the couch for long. Inina Chiara comes barreling down the hallway and leaps over the couch, plopping down beside me. She smoothes out her sickly green dress and primps her matching hair as she chimes, "Have I missed anything?"

"Not yet," Raymon assures her as District 1's seal is displayed. The action starts right away as the girl is reaped. I miss her name as Inina sneezes obnoxiously in my ear, but no one volunteers for her. I wonder why because normally District 1's tributes are both Careers. Either way, she looks a little shaken, but recovers herself quickly as the crowd roars in approval. A young boy is reaped, but he is quickly replaced by eighteen-year-old Solon Valdus. Even through a television screen, Solon manages to scare the crap out of me. His blonde hair is short for the most part, but the bangs are slightly longer and spiked up. His blue eyes seem to stare straight into my mind, seeking out my biggest fears and bringing them up. How he does it is beyond me, but I know if I'm ever faced with him in the arena, I probably won't be able to move let alone fight. His tan skin is packed with muscles so large it looks as if he could snap me like a twig. All in all, he's a competitor.

"Oh," Inina says cheerily. "He's- ACHOO! He's a- ACHOO! I mean- ACHOO!" She never finishes what she was trying to say, but I don't think it was anything important.

The seal for District 2 appears and I try to pay more attention despite Inina sprinkling me with snot. I inch myself away from her as the female volunteer's name is announced as Aponi Cathal. She's intimidating, but not nearly as much as Solon. Her dark hair is curled in a way that makes her look stunning and deadly at the same time. Her district partner, Ares Gruff, doesn't disappoint. He's sixteen, only one year younger than Aponi, and is also a volunteer. The duo smiles winningly at the crowd, enforcing a wave of applause. They smirk at each other and I can tell the Careers are going to be tough this year.

Now it's time for our own district. I try not to watch as Adena is reaped. The scream coming from the boy in the crowd is heard and I feel as if a crack has opened up in my heart. It's only a reminder of how sick these Games really are. Adena obviously had people who cared about her and now she may never see them again. My name is called and the discomfort on Mayor Watts' face is easily spotted. I look braver than I felt as I march onto the stage. I'm hoping they won't show the ending of the reaping, but I'm let down. The crowd begins to chant my haunting nickname and my face shows how much it gets to me. I munch on my bread to keep me busy as the scene changes to a bright District 4.

The boy's name is missed thanks to another sneezing episode from Inina, but he isn't a volunteer. His partner, Mariana Foley, is the same age as Solon from 1. Her sea-green eyes frighten me as she stares into the camera. She's a Career, and the thought of the quality of the pack this year makes me shudder. I can only hope to evade them for as long as possible while in the arena.

I'm glad to finally be rid of the Career districts and District 5's reaping begins. However, I miss most of it as I'm sucked into a conversation with Inina about how marvelous the Games this year will be. I constantly try to shut the sneezing Capitolite up, but she cannot be silenced. I end up missing most of the remaining reapings thanks to her. However, I do manage to pick up a few things. The kids from 5 are nothing to worry about, the ones from 7 are a brother and sister team - the girl was reaped and the brother volunteered to protect her - and the boy from 8 looks strangely tough.

One district I do get to listen in on is 10. Volos Karni, the boy, is sixteen and his partner, Sinopa Fox, is fourteen. They were both reaped, but look incredibly strong. They show no fear and display their chemistry as they high-five onstage. It's known that the two will ally together which makes me nervous. They may be younger than a lot of the tributes, but I think about how they've grown up with animals all their life. They know what it's like to be one with nature. Most likely, they've had to do some hard work in their life. They're bound to be competitors.

11 and 12 are nothing special. The girl from 11 is extremely shy and both from twelve look about ready to pass out. That ends my viewing of the reapings. I sigh, mentally rejoicing. It's harder than you'd think, trying to pick out information about your potential murderers.

"Well!" Inina sings. "I've had- ACHOO! I've had enough excitement for one day. If anyone- ACHOO! needs me, I'll be in my room." She skips down the hallway opposite to mine.

Raymon is looking at me now and I soon discover that Adena is as well. Raymon takes a breath and says, "We'd better start talking strategy. I'm going to send you two into these Games prepared. District 3 will have a winner this year." As he says that last part, I get a strange feeling that he's directing his voice towards me.

My head starts to hurt as I realize he wants to talk about how I should kill the others. I don't think I'm ready for that, not yet. After all, this is all so new. Never in my life did I think I'd have to kill people for my own survival. Abruptly, I say, "No. I'm going to bed."

I stand and walk over to the dining table, grabbing another roll. Before I can escape to my bedroom, Raymon leaps off the couch and grabs my arm. "Beetee, you can't keep hiding in your room."

His eyes are deadly serious as he glares at me, daring me to do anything to make him let go. So I do. Maybe it's my rebellious side getting the better of me, but I'm tired of Raymon telling me what to do. I want to go to bed, so go to bed I shall. I knee him in the gut and he steps back, releasing my arm. He shows signs of pain, but he doesn't look angry. Well, I assume he doesn't. I retreat down the hallway and into my room before I can really stop and look at him.

Locking the door behind me, I shove the rest of my roll into my mouth and throw myself onto the bed and under the covers. I don't even bother to change out of my reaping clothes. Today has just been too much for me and I'm ready for a good night's sleep. After fiddling with my wires for a few seconds, I put them on the nightstand, turn off the lamp, and allow myself to fall asleep.

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><p><em>Waking up, I realize I'm not in my comfortable bed on the train anymore. I'm lying on a field of grass using a backpack as a pillow. My clothes have been replaced with a black beater and shorts which I'm thankful for since the climate here is so hot. That brings me to wonder; where is "here"?<em>

_I sit up in the grass and feel around with my hands until I find something. A stone. A green gem with brown and yellow specks, one that matches my eyes. I quickly remember that this isn't a normal stone, it's my ring. My token. Without thinking twice, I slip it on and bring myself to my feet._

_The ground below makes no noise as I walk. The scenery is beautiful, something I could never get in District 3. I appear to be in a clearing. Lush trees spring towards the clear sky all around. The sun is beaming down on me, making my sweat stream down my face quickly. Birds fly overhead and I think I see a rabbit hop through a patch of flowers to my left._

_I wish this was my home, a place so filled with beauty and harmony, no dismal factories or run-down living quarters. I wish the cobblestone streets were replaced with this luscious grass. I wish the smoke filled skies were replaced with the mass of blue above me._

_This can't get any better. The masterpiece I walk in couldn't be more perfect. And yet, that's what it becomes. Now I have someone to share it with._

_The boy is running towards me, something I don't question. He wears a satisfactory smile, probably excited that he's found someone else who is witnessing this amazing display of nature. His familiar blonde hair is spiked perfectly above his forehead and his eyes are similar to the hue of the sky. He holds something in his hands, something I can't quite make out._

_Before I know it, I'm running too. We get closer to each other and I begin to make out some more details. He's in an outfit identical to mine. He has a necklace with a single black stone on it that bounces against his chest as he runs. His face is smudged with dirt and cuts._

_That's when I see it clearly, the object in his hands. I stop dead in my tracks as his grin shifts into a smirk. He winks as he charges right at me, holding the object out in front of him._

_I can't run away, my feet aren't responding. My jaw drops and my lip begins to quiver as I realize he's got a sword. I have no time to do anything as Solon Valdus digs his blade into my stomach._


	5. Playing the Game

**PearyPants44's A/N: **Hiya! I'm soooooooo sorry I haven't updated last week. I had tech week for my high school spring musical, so I literally had no time to do anything. But thankfully, I'm back on track. Hopefully. We'll see. Anyway, I managed to finish this chapter over the weekend. Sorry if it's not my best and if the end seems a little rushed. I could just not find any inspiration for this one. Don't worry, I promise it'll get more interesting after this. I think you guys are going to like his stylist ;) Remember, reviews are freaking amazing.

- Connor

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><p><strong>Playing the Game…<strong>

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><p>I'm out of breath as I hastily sit up in my bed. My face is drenched with sweat and I'm breathing heavily. My gut aches and I pull up my shirt to reveal that it was all just a dream. Correction; nightmare. There's no hole in my stomach. Solon Valdus from District 1 never really stabbed me.<p>

It's a relief to know I'm safe, but the nightmare was so real, so clear. I can't shake the feeling that I'll actually be placed in that position soon. I might be stabbed for real. My entire body shivers at the thought of dying or even worse, killing.

My ring is still on my finger, only adding to my fear. Everything was so detailed, all the way down to my token. I think back to the dream, remembering the black stone thumping against Solon's chest as he charged at me. Was that his token?

There's a light tapping at my door, probably what woke me up. I'll admit, I flinch at the sound, but I have to remind myself that I'm not in the Hunger Games, not yet anyway. I'm on the train, no one here is going to hurt me. Tentatively, I get to my shaky feet and walk to the door. Pulling it open, a cheery looking Inina is waiting for me. How she's already up and moving this early in the morning is beyond me.

"Good- ACHOO! morning Beetee!" she sneezes. "Be ready for breakfast in ten minutes please!"

Unlike last night, I don't protest. I might as well eat _something, _I just can't overdo it. I nod and Inina skips down the hallway sneezing all the way.

Closing the door, I turn around to face my room. I'm still in my now-filthy reaping clothes. I don't want to take them off, partly because there the only things I have left of home. No, that's a lie. I have my ring. But still, letting go of them is like letting go of hope.

_Get a grip, Beetee, _I scold myself. _You can deal without the clothes._

I begin to search through the various drawers and closet, looking for anything I could wear. A lot of the clothing is stuff only a devoted Capitolite would wear. Exotic furs and multi-colored feathers cover almost every inch of uncomfortable-looking fabric, making it difficult to find anything normal. At last, my hands discover a pair of jeans at the bottom of a drawer. There's a white T-shirt with a strange abstract design on the front that I decide is wearable on the left side of the closet. After grabbing a brown belt from the dresser, I slip into the bathroom.

My surroundings are nothing new to me, looking almost identical to my bathroom in District 3. I can't help but smile, imagining myself back at home, living a normal life. I can almost hear my mother downstairs cooking breakfast. It's hard to come back into reality again, but I manage to do it. I hang my clothes up on a rack and find a towel in the closet. I set my glasses on the counter and begin to undress. I reach into the shower to start the water, but I find no handle or knob to turn it on. Frowning, I peek inside and find dozens of little buttons decorating the shower walls.

I cock my head and experimentally press a random button. As a result, I'm hit with a massive wave of hot air. I hastily shut off what must be the full-body dryer and compose myself. I run my fingers over the other buttons before settling on a light blue one. Thankfully, the showerhead spits out water as I press it. It's warm, not scalding hot or freezing cold, so I step in.

My experience in the shower is my first real glimpse of Capitol life. Many of the settings are absurd, like the one that opens up part of the wall revealing various bath toys even though it's not a tub. I can't even find a use for some of the buttons. For example, there's a whole column that changes the colors of the shower tiles. Who even needs that?

I try to be as quick as possible, mainly because I feel far too much like a Capitolite for my taste. After finally finding the shampoo and soap buttons, I give myself a good scrub down and turn of the water. I press the first button my fingers found to access the full-body dryer. Within seconds, there's not a trace of water on me.

Feeling fresher than ever, I don't even bother finding a towel. I slip into my clothes and rub some steam off my glasses before putting them on as well. I search under the sink until I find a bottle of gel which I use to spike up my black hair. I brush my teeth quickly before grabbing my belt off the counter and heading for the door.

I'm halfway through slipping the belt through the loops of my jeans when I look up and spot Raymon sitting on my bed casually as if it's his room. I'll admit, the fact that he let himself in to someone else's bedroom irks me, but I say nothing except, "Raymon."

"Beetee," he returns, offering a nod.

I stand there awkwardly while I finish putting on my belt. He still hasn't moved or said anything else, so I cross my arms and say as stubbornly as possible, "What do you want?"

My mentor sits up, leaning forward onto his knees. He glances up with those big brown eyes of his. I can't help but notice what I saw at the reaping. They display a strange combination of being afraid but also putting fear into others, like me. I don't get it. Is he scared of me or am I supposed to be scared of him?

"Just a talk," he says. "You can't keep fighting me, Beetee. I'm on your side. I can be the difference between your life and death."

I say nothing, but raise an eyebrow that tells him to keep going.

"We're talking strategy today," he continues. "whether you like it or not. I want you to agree to not walk out on me like you did last night. I'm just trying to help."

I release a sigh, knowing he's right, but not wanting to accept his help. Normally I'm very independent, or at least that's what my mother says. It's probably the result of never being accepted by the other kids of my district. I like to get things done myself. Besides, how much help can Raymon be when I'm in the arena?

On the other hand, I know the smart thing to do is agree to his terms and listen to what he has to say. He's won the Games already. He knows what to do. Maybe he _can_ help me out.

"Alright," I decide. "Fine."

Nothing more is said as he makes his way to the door. I wait for him to leave, but instead he turns around and says, "I'm not the one trying to hurt you, Beetee."

My eyes probably widen when I ask, "Well who is?"

Raymon opens his mouth and starts to form a sentence, but he quickly closes it and shakes his head. Speaking again, he mutters, "The other tributes." With that, he's gone.

Again, more adults leaving me clueless.

Not quite sure what to do, I follow him out the door, closing it behind me. I walk slowly down the hallway and into the main car where Inina and Adena are already eating. Raymon is just sitting down, waving me over calmly. I make my way over and sit down, making sure there is at least one empty seat between me and my mentor. I'm still not sure what to think of him. He acts like he wants to help me, but who can be sure? He's obviously keeping something form me. That's not something that says "caring mentor".

Inina, who has been stuffing her face like a pig and sneezing every three seconds, starts making this weird buzzing sound. Adena jumps right along with me at the noise.

"What the hell?" I exclaim.

"Relax," my escort says. "It's just my-ACHOO! phone."

Phone. Something we produce back home. I calm down a little as she pulls out the small device and hit's a button. She immediately begins chatting away until Raymon politely asks if she can continue her conversation somewhere else. Gladly, she skips down the hallway to her room.

As I begin to fill my plate with food, just enough to keep me full and no more, Raymon looks at Adena and I and begins to talk.

"Alright," he starts, setting down his utensils. "It's time to figure out a strategy for you two. You can't go into a fight like this blind and expect to win. We need a plan."

We say nothing as I slowly continue to eat and Adena looks down with sorrow in her hazel eyes. Raymon sighs and moves on.

"I'm sure you saw what happened to the tributes last year."

Adena and I nod grimly. District 3 didn't stand a chance last year. They sprinted for the Cornucopia with all their might to grab the best weapons, but they underestimated the speed of the other tributes. The first two deaths of the Games were from our district. I can't get that image of the boy being decapitated by District 1's male tribute out of my mind.

"Good. So I bet you know what I'm going to ask of you."

"The answer is no," I say, understanding what he wants from us. "We need to get supplies or else we're done for."

"That wasn't a question," Raymon retorts. "It was an order. You two are not to run into that bloodbath if you want to live. Stay alive for long enough and I'll be able to send you some weapons and supplies."

I still don't entirely agree, but I say no more. Raymon isn't going to stop me from getting what I need to live. That's when the thought crosses my mind. Something I need to live is a weapon. Something I need to do to survive is kill the others.

"Raymon," I start, but quickly shut my mouth.

"Hm?"

My mentor is waiting for me to finish, but I don't know if I should. Well, I guess it's now or never. If I want to get this off my chest, it might as well be while I'm thinking about it.

"I don't want to kill anyone."

Raymon rolls his eyes and looks down, letting out a sigh. I guess I said the wrong thing. Glancing up for a split second, he says, "Beetee, you have to kill if you want to win."

"Maybe I don't want to win," I snap. "If that means killing innocent people, I'd rather die."

"Don't talk like that," Raymon shouts, standing up and slamming his hands against the table. "You-" he stops himself and looks at Adena. "One of you is coming home and to do that, you have to listen to me. You're going to kill someone. You don't have to like it, but you have to do it."

"Raymon-"

"Just play the game Beetee," he says, quieting down. "Just play the freaking game."

I'm silent as Raymon glares daggers at me. Adena looks away from him. He must realize how scary he had just become, because he says, "Sorry about that."

Raymon sits down as the train comes to a steady stop. He looks out one of the windows and mumbles, "That's enough for today. We're here."

Just then, Inina comes skipping out of her room singing, "Oh, the prep teams are here! You two are going to look fabulous for the opening ceremony tonight!"

"Tonight?" I ask.

"Of course!" my escort beams. "Did no one tell you? You're to be prepared by the evening and then it's time to get this show on the road!"

Great, just what I need. A whole group of dumb Capitol citizens touching my body.

The train door slides open and about a half-dozen multi-colored people come barreling in. Two of them grab my arms and practically drag me out the door. I struggle to break free, telling them I know how to walk, but they refuse to let go.

"Not enough time!" one chimes.

"We need to hurry!" says another.

Adena is being treated the same way by the other three Capitolites. I glance back at my mentor and escort. Raymon is shaking his head and Inina is shouting between sneezes, "Good luck!"

For some reason, I don't think I'm going To like what they do to me, but I close my eyes and think to myself, _Just play the game._


	6. So Wrong it's Right

**A/N: **I'M BACK BITCHES.

*ahem*

Sorry about that. I got excited. As you know, I haven't updated this story in…a very long time. Well, that's about to change. I've been going through some very emotionally traumatizing experiences lately and life got extremely busy and hectic extremely fast. However, I've always been meaning to come back to this story. And I'm finally getting around to it!

So, I'm very sorry for keeping you all waiting so long, but from now on, I'll make sure to stay on track and update no matter what. Chapters will still be posted every Tuesday and Thursday, starting immediately, so tune in then.

By the way, I'm still going to try and reply to all my reviews, starting with this chapter.

I want to thank everyone for the amazing reviews and for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story ;)

- Connor

* * *

><p><strong>So Wrong it's Right…<strong>

* * *

><p>"Don't touch me."<p>

"Get his eyebrows."

"I said don't - GOD DAMN IT!"

"Stop squirming! You're only making things more difficult."

Despite my valiant efforts, nothing I do seems to get my prep team away from me. As if looking at their horrid, colorful faces wasn't torture enough, they've now strapped me to a work table, like I'm some kind of patient in a mental hospital, and begun having their way with my face.

I wince in pain as the tall, lanky woman with firebrick hair (I think her name is Flora) rips the hairs off my other eyebrow. Unfortunately, I can't see what they're doing, but I doubt I'm going to be very attractive afterwards.

Meanwhile, the other two mutants are working on other parts of my body. Another skinny woman, much younger than Flora, is fine-tuning my nails while a boy around the same age pulls my head into a sink and scrubs at it with some strange smelling shampoo. It's difficult to see - or breathe for that matter - while my hair is being completely abused, but at some point, Flora must have left the room, because when I'm allowed to sit up again, she's gone.

"To get Circe," the man says as he snatches a comb from a dresser.

I raise and eyebrow at him. "How did you know I was-"

"Special talent." He digs the comb into my hair and yanks, not caring at all how much he hurts me. "I can read faces pretty easily." Not really sure what he means, I begin to open my mouth to speak again, but he cuts me off and says quickly, "Circe is your stylist. She's finishing up your chariot outfit. Now hold still! It's hard to work on someone so fidgety."

I tentatively comply. After all, the waxing portion of my makeover seems to be finished, and that must have been the worst part. I guess I'm willing to let them do what they want until it starts hurting again.

Several minutes later, my mind begins to wander, imagining what sorts of things await me in the Capitol. I wonder if all the citizens will be as freakish as my prep team, or if it's just a rumor. I think of what will happen at the opening ceremonies when a horrible thought crosses my mind.

Raymon never got to tell Adena and I how to act on the chariot.

Immediately, I lose my cool, calm composure and begin to panic. How am I supposed to get sponsors if I don't know what to do? Should I try and look intimidating or scared or proud or stoic? Should I even do anything at all?

"Just be yourself."

"Huh?"

The man takes a break from my hair and looks down at me. "Yourself. You know who that is, right? Just do whatever you think you should do and, odds are, the crowd will love you."

Alright, this guy is seriously starting to freak me out. It's like he's some sort of mind reader or something. But for some reason, I nod. I mean, his advice actually makes since, and honestly, I wasn't expecting that kind of thing from a Capitol citizen. I assumed he'd want me to stand on top of Adena and wave theatrically to the crowd.

"What's your name?"

The man looks around for a moment before asking, "Who, me?" He looks genuinely shocked that the question came up, but eagerly says, "Grayson."

Something in my mind decides that I like Grayson. While he may seem like your stereotypical Capitolite at first, what with his glittering silver hair and dark blue skin decorated with white tattoos of little stars, I think he's more than that. I'm about to say something to him when someone bursts through the large set of double doors, striding proudly into the round, metallic room and orders, "Out."

Grayson looks disappointed, probably wishing we could talk a bit more, but he forces himself to say, "Good luck, Beetee." He grabs the arm of the third prep team member and hurries out the door, leaving me alone with this new woman.

The blonde-haired, purple-eyed beauty rushes over to me, pulling up a chair and taking a seat, looking at me with high interest. I lean my chair into an upright position and stare at her mesmerized face.

"Well, it doesn't look like _they_ had to do much work," she says, speaking of my prep team like they're animals. "From what I've heard, you were already gorgeous enough."

I blink a few times, mentally giving myself a once-over. Is she serious? "Uh, thanks."

The sound of my voice seems to excite her even more as she smiles giddily and inches her chair closer. "So," she begins cheerily. "My name's Circe. I'm sure your prep team told you _all_ about me…right?"

Slowly, I shake my head. "No."

Circe's expression drops as her eyes flash with sudden rage. I flinch and feel my mouth begin to gape, but as quickly as it came, the stare of death vanishes from her face, giving her the same cheery look she had before.

"Oh," she says. "Well, they were probably busy. Anyway, I'm your stylist. I'll be the one who will make or break your experience in the Capitol, and don't worry, I plan on _making_ it. The first thing we have to do is get you in your chariot outfit. Follow me please."

As if I have a choice. Circe viciously grabs my arm and takes off down a narrow hallway while I stumble and trip behind her. I can feel my legs beginning to give out when she slams open a door and drags me inside, locking it behind us.

"Here we are," she sings, barely out of breath. I glance around at our new surroundings, noticing not much except the pile of clothes in the opposite corner. It looks like this is where I'm supposed to be getting changed…but why is Circe in here with me?

"There's not much time!" she exclaims, pulling me over to the clothes. "Let's get those clothes off you, shall we?" Before I can say anything, she rips open the white, button-up, short-sleeved shirt my prep team had me change into.

"Uh, excuse me," I say as sweetly as I can, but as she begins to pull the sleeves off my arms, I get a little pissed. "I'm not five. I know how to undress myself."

Now shirtless, I take a step back and reach for my costume, but I catch another terrifying look in Circe's eyes, this one being of desire. The worst part; I'm the thing she's desiring.

After sickeningly licking her lips, she says, "Oh, but we don't have time for that, do we?" I protest and try to shove her away, but she pushes me into a chair, which seems to have come out of nowhere, and begins to tug off my white pants. The fire in her eyes glows even brighter.

"Hey, back off," I warn, fighting my way out of the chair and to the other side of the room, right by the door. But apparently, my half-naked body is too much for her to resist, and my stylist only follows me. "You're disgusting, you know that? I'm fifteen!"

As if she'd done nothing wrong, Circe pouts and replies, "I'm only helping you get ready on time, Beetee. Where's the crime in that?"

She reaches out to touch my face, grabbing my arm with her other hand and pulling me closer. Before she can do anything else, I fumble for the doorknob behind me and hastily unlock it, pulling the door open so it comes between us. Not even feeling guilty about her being a girl, I shove her harshly into the hall and growl, "I'll get ready myself, thank you." She starts to say something, but I slam the door in her face, making sure it's locked before I do anything else.

Pressing my bare back against the door, I take a deep breath. What the hell was that all about? She must be at lease thirty. Can't she get another guy, you know, her age?

I shake my head. I should've expected the Capitol to be like this. I should've known the people would've been as sick and twisted as Circe. I shouldn't be surprised in the slightest.

Trying to put the past five minutes out of my mind, I make my way over to my chariot outfit and begin to examine it. In my opinion, it looks atrocious, but seeing as I have no choice, I begin to dress, thankfully by myself this time.

When I'm done, I tentatively pull open the door, finding Circe leaning against the wall, staring at me irritably. She immediately brightens up, however, as if she hadn't just tried to rape me. "Oh, don't you look lovely!" she says brightly. "Come, let's get the final accessories."

_There's more? _I think in disgust.

My stylist tries to grab my arm again, but this time, I'm ready. I pull away and start down the hallway by myself, Circe following close behind. You know, maybe this all means something. Maybe it's all a sign of what the Games will be like. I may say I won't kill anybody now, but as they progress, maybe I'll change. Maybe I won't be Beetee Elysio anymore. Just like with Circe, maybe I'll suddenly turn cold and vicious the minute someone approaches me.

_Knock it off, _I scold. _You're not going to kill anyone. No one's going to try and seduce you in the arena. You'll be fine._

I can only hope my brain is right. If anything were to change me into a heartless monster, I don't know what I'd do.

We reach the original, round room where I was abused by my prep team in less than a minute. Circe pushes past me, running over to a large closet. "Almost out of time," she mutters. "You need to be downstairs in six minutes."

I cross my arms and wait as she returns with the rest of my outfit. Groaning, I allow her to position everything, making sure she doesn't get tempted to touch me in any way she shouldn't. When she's finally finished, she drags me in front of a mirror and says, "What do you think?"

I stare at my barely recognizable self. My pale skin seems to glisten in the artificial light, exaggerating my jet black hair, now trimmed so that it's pulled forward into a spiky hairdo that hovers over my forehead. In my opinion, I look like a unicorn. A very attractive (something I never would have described myself as until my prep team fixed me up), pristine unicorn, but a unicorn nonetheless.

My outfit, however, looks far worse than I do. I wince as I notice that my skintight, metallic, silver jumpsuit clings to me in all the wrong places. Thankfully, my backside is covered by a long, flowing cape made entirely of wires, but my front is completely exposed. My black combat boots come up to my shins over my suit. Compared to the rest of my outfit, my simple ring looks highly out of place.

"Oh!" Circe says as if she'd just remembered something. "Your glasses! We _must_ do something with them." She darts to the other side of the room, snatching something off the counter and returning to me like her life depends on it. In one swift movement, she plucks my own glasses off my face and replaces them with a bulky, futuristic pair with darkened lenses. "Much better!"

"I can't see anything," I complain.

"You'll adjust."

Circe leads me out the door and into the elevator, not bothering to get in with me, probably fearing what I would do if she forced herself into another small space with me. "Good luck!" she chimes as the doors slide closed and I'm left alone.

The elevator descends without me having to press any buttons. I lean against the wall, feeling a little lightheaded after my first, overwhelming experience in the Capitol, but also because I feel the need to know that something is there. Not only do these glasses not match my prescription, but the darkened lenses make it nearly impossible to see anything. I might as well be blind.

There's a loud _ding_ and I'm aware of the doors opening before me. Shakily, I step into the brightly lit area that must be home to the chariots. My ears are greeted with an explosion of laughter and chatter and I begin to wonder if I'm even going to be able to find my way to my own chariot.

"Beetee?"

The voice is loud and clear, obviously closer to me than anyone else. I turn in the direction it came from and make out the shape of someone, pinning them as a female. She holds something in her hands (a clipboard maybe) and taps her foot impatiently.

"You're Beetee, correct?"

"Yes."

She checks something off on the clipboard and mutters, "Thanks for finally showing up." Increasing her voice, she says, "Follow me," in a much more pleasant tone.

I stumble through the dark, blurred world behind the woman. We pass several people bustling around, and I can make out most of the tributes already on their chariots, ready to take off. It's not long before we reach the one that must belong to me.

"Just in time," the woman says as though a gigantic weight has been lifted off her shoulders. "Board your chariot. We'll be starting in a moment."

As if on cue, my eyes are greeted by an intense light, which must be the gate opening to let us into the City Circle. Unaware of my inability to see, the woman hastily moves away as District 1's chariot pulls out of the garage.

I stumble to find my way onto the chariot and convince myself that I won't be able to make it on time. Great. I'll be the idiot who doesn't show up for the opening ceremonies. I'll probably get trampled by the horses behind me, too.

Suddenly, I trip as I try to climb on top of my chariot, my face hitting the concrete floor hard. I hear a snicker behind me as District 2's chariot leaves and turn my head towards the source. Removing my glasses for a moment, I can make out the girl from District 4 (what was her name? Mariana?) holding in quite a bit of laughter. I frown evidently at her, but she doesn't seem to care.

Slipping my glasses back on, I try to use the back of the chariot to help me up, but it starts moving away. I frantically scramble to board it when I feel a cold, petite hand gripping mine. "Jump," I hear the familiar voice of Adena whisper, and I comply. She pulls my light frame up and into the chariot with a boost from my legs. I can tell I made it in on time by the roaring applause that greets my ears seconds after.

"What happened to you?" Adena says quietly, but harshly. "I was beginning to worry I'd have to face the crowd alone."

Resisting the urge to spill everything that happened with Circe, I mutter, "I just got held up."

She looks me over once, obviously checking out my glasses. "You can't even see with those things on, can you?"

"Not really."

She chuckles. "Lucky you. These Capitol freaks are really hard to tolerate."

I join her in laughing this time, and the audience must catch it, because the cheers and shouts increase tenfold. Is there something entertaining about two kids laughing?

"Hey, they like us," Adena says lowly.

I shrug. "Well, a man on my prep team said to be yourself. I guess he was right."

Adena smiles, one of the few things I can catch with my vision clouded. I can feel my cape of wires being uplifted by the wind trailing behind us and can only imagine how weird I look right now. Instinctively, I being to wave to my half of the crowd, the stands on the right, sparking an even more enthusiastic applause. Adena does the same to her half, and before you know it, we've got the whole Capitol cheering for us.

I can't help but notice several girlish screams and a few whistles as we come towards the end of the ride. "What are they doing?" I ask my partner.

She answers in a tone that makes me think she's rolling her eyes. "Can't you tell? They think you're hot."

"They think I'm…_what_?"

Adena laughs once more. "Well, admit it. You're not exactly the ugliest tribute."

I continue waving in shock. I mean, I guess it's true. I'm not particularly _un_attractive, I've just never heard anyone think otherwise.

Suddenly, my spirits rise to the heavens and I'm feeling great. I, Beetee Elysio, have gone from dorky pushover, otherwise known as Volts, to Capitol superstar overnight. I have a whole audience of high-class citizens screaming their lungs out when I do so much as wave. Who would've thought this would ever happen to me?

As the chariot slowly comes to a stop, something begins to bug me, and it doesn't take long to realize what it is. I shouldn't be happy right now or satisfied with my performance. I'm in the Capitol, in the Hunger Games. I shouldn't care what these people think of me.

But the disgusting part is, I do.

Adena helps me off the chariot and toward a large building. As we step inside the cool, air-conditioned space, I mentally scold myself for even enjoying that chariot ride for a second.

Maybe I was right earlier. Maybe I _am_ becoming something I'm not. Maybe this is the beginning of my transformation from kind, caring Beetee Elysio to ruthless, vicious player in the Games.


End file.
